Life
by Meaghan McCormak
Summary: This is a story about how, to begin with, two kids grow up. Simple as that. Klaine - From children to elder, for those who don't like reading Child!Klaine or Future!Klaine.
1. Prologue

**_Summary: _**This is a story about how, to begin with, two kids grow up. Simple as that.

**Warning:** this story will go from children to slightly elder, for those who don't like reading Child!Klaine or Future!Klaine and that.

After pretty much just that, I leave you with... this.

* * *

><p><span>Prologue<span>

Blaine Anderson had had a rough life.

His childhood had been especially poor, not in terms of money but in terms of affection. He had lacked hints of closeness in his father's talks and signs of real, effortless love in his mother's embraces. Perhaps the endeavor Walter and Linda did wasn't enough.

Or maybe it just didn't reach to him. It didn't touch him, it didn't make him feel welcome, and when Blaine, just with four and a half years old, had these musings, it made him feel even worse. Why? The answer is simple: he had everything he needed –this time, yes, as regards possessions- and his parents had worked very hard to have him raised properly, so that, as he grew up, he would have his life as easy and valuable as possible. And what was young Blaine doing about it? Complaining. Inside his head, that is; of course, if Blaine would have spoken his puerile mind aloud, he would probably get a reprimand, and he didn't want that from his father.

To be honest, he loved his parents more than anything in the world, but sometimes he was scared of how much he longed for them to love him just a tad more.

"_Mommy, can't you read a story to me?" little Blaine asked, holding the quilt close to his chest, fisting his tiny hands around it. He peeked up through his eyelashes at his mother, her black, thick hair pouring down her shoulders and her cherry lips highlighting her dark red and light dress. He looked apprehensively at her and chewed on his lip softly._

"_I'm sorry Blaine, but you have to go to sleep now, honey," she insisted, patting his short leg under the comforter and starting to get up from the edge of the bed._

"_But I'm scared of the dark!" he begged louder than necessary and fraught, tugging the sheets to a side, as he crawled quickly and clumsily towards his mom, reaching out for her hand, in an unintended, not completely sure way. "What if…" he cut his own sentence with a gasp and stumbled hurriedly, back to the safety of his pillow and quilt, covering up again. "What if something comes out of my closet?" he whispers strongly and lets out all the air in his lungs._

"_Nothing will come out of your closet, Blaine," his mother reassured him, taking a seat again, this time next to him. She caressed his dark and big curls, her head tilted to a side slightly and scanning his son's face with her gaze, going from his creased forehead and anxious eyes to his quivering lips._

"_But I don't want you to go!" he whined, untangling out of the sheets and surrounding her neck with his fragile arms. "I'm not sleepy, mom," he persists in a trembling, breaking voice nuzzling against her skin, looking for that sense of home somewhere. "I promise, I'm not tired," he continues, not until her mother, after lazily running her hand up and down his back, pulls away and helps him lie down again, evading any visual contact with his son. But his gaze remains on her avoiding one, searching her eyes, desperate and needy._

"_Go to sleep, Blaine," she says, this time firmer, still not looking at him._

"_But…" he starts to mumble, sound barely above a murmur. "Mom…" his voice cracks and is shaky and breathy again._

"_Now!" she almost yells in an imperative way, closing the door after her._

_He's left alone in the absolute dark, except for the faint moonlight that filters through his window and strikes, reflecting its light against the spot on the floor next to his bed._

_And Blaine can't tell if the sobs he hears are his own, rickety and silent as possible or coming from the hall out of his room._

After that night, Blaine was never read a night tale and barely given a proper, nice goodnight kiss.

As he slowly grew up he had never been talked to or referred to as a child, really. The chats he had with his father were always quite formal and his mother never spoke to him about damsels and princes or heroes that rescued them. No castles, no house trees, no dragons, no daring sword fights, no magic beans, no fairies, no "_happily ever after_"s in Blaine's life. And when he had dared to ask about all those things, after doubting and querying because of a movie he had seen in the cinema with a kindergarten friend and his mother, his own father had snapped, not only prohibiting him to watch those kinds of movies ever again but banishing from talking to his best friend.

"_B-but… Dad, it's not his fault," he stammered, perplex. "He didn't even want to watch that movie, his mother took us to the movies, and-"_

"_Well, his mother was the one who raised him so I don't want you to talk to him or her," he claimed before turning around and seeking for a book in his broad library._

"_Does that mean he can't come over tomorrow?" he asked, lowering his head, burying his chin in his chest and fiddling with his feet and hands, trying to make himself as little as possible. He really didn't want to pester his father any more, but he needed to know._

_His father sighed and dropped his head. Uh-oh… He had annoyed him even more._

_Blaine cringed and gulped audibly._

"_No, Blaine, he cannot, and that's that," he sentenced. Blaine feinted to say he wasn't insisting, that he was just asking but reckoned it was better to leave things that way "Now go to sleep, son," he dismissed him and turned his back on him once more, as Blaine started to shuffle away, before stopping on the threshold._

"_Dad?" the tiny boy tried again timidly._

"_Yes, Blaine?" irritation noticeable in the way he reluctantly dragged the words._

"_Do you want some cake?" he squirmed and held closer and tauter to the frame._

"_No, son, thank you," he waved the offer away. His hazel, shiny eyes were brimming with tears by now, threatening to flow and stream down his face. Without another word, he walked briskly to his room, leaving everything behind him; his oblivious father in his study, his less distracted mother in the kitchen, the dirty plates still waiting to be led to the kitchen along with some empty glasses and an almost untouched chocolate cake with nuts on a tray, showing a paraffin "6", soaked in glitter, candlewick lit and a miniature flame faintly flickering._

Altogether, young Blaine Anderson's life was pretty sad and cold.

Just like he felt sometimes, hugging his knees in the middle of the night, whimpering himself to sleep and listening to his parents murmuring and discussing –although, and thankfully, they rarely argued- in a bedroom next to his, while he was near enough to run off to their arms, snuggle between them, laugh and tell them about their day and how the teacher had complimented him on his comprehension in class and kindness towards the other kids. But the worst part was that he didn't feel it would be correct. Because they were his parents and it was not his place to do that.

On the other hand, especially after the birthday party incident, Blaine no longer had any friends. When they found out what Blaine had done to Brandon –his favorite friend-, they had assumed he could push aside any of them overnight and, _ironically_, stopped talking to him. And so, that day Blaine was left alone, sitting in the sandpit, gaping at first, but pursing his mouth and frowning after.

He grabbed the plastic, yellow shovel next to him and buried it in the sand, proceeding with his task as he bit the inside of his lower lip to stop himself from crying yet again.

From the colorful and cheerful building, she had seen everything.

It was starting to get colder and the gray clouds were slowly gathering in the sky, some quiet thunders echoing in the distance, the smell of a close drizzle impregnating the damp air.

As she thoughtfully considered her student, his fist quivering around the handle and tossing sand to a side with an almost impeccable poker face, she found herself frowning in confusion and her throat closing at the sight.

Elizabeth sighed as the first of many to come fell gently on the glass and, a second later, several heavy droplets followed behind, drumming against the glass; the relaxing sound contrasting with the screaming of children and the cool water blending with Blaine's own tears.

* * *

><p><em>Ok, so, this is like.. I have no idea why I decided to write this, but I wanted to (surprisingly, I am not obsessed with Swing Sets and Sandboxes nor have I read it recently or whatsoever, so it's not like I wanted to write this because of it) and it was going to be a one shot in the beginning, but then I decided to make another chapter where the next thing happens, but I highly doubt it will be like.. a LOOOOONG fic. I would barely call it multi-chapter, really, I'd say three chapters max.<em>

_Yes, yes, his parents are also called Walter and Linda in my other fanfic, _Walk The Line_, but I seriously can't come up with another name for Blaine's father. GO SWING SETS AND SANDBOXES, seriously, makes me cry so goddamn hard, go read it now. Please, it's too beautiful (I am by no means, trying to say this is NEARLY as good or original or ANYTHING as that fic cause that one is just.. magical, just.. I can't)._

_In case you haven't noticed, I love writing flashbacks. And angst :)_

__Anyway,__**__ hope you like it__**__ and PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAAAASE, REVIEW,__**__ pretty please?__**


	2. Childhood: Warmth

_Childhood:_ Warmth

The sand was darker and thicker than usual because of the day before; the rain was definitely gone but its moist presence was still hovering over the town.

The sandbox was, also, the freshest place to be –the shade under the tall oak being the first one in the list- something Blaine was grateful for, since that morning the weather was pretty hot. Being mid November already, the chilly wind had grown to blow defiantly and reach every corner, yet some days the sun was more adamant. Just like today.

Blaine continued to play the same game he had the day before, bored to the core: how long was he supposed to dig the shovel in and then lift a million of fawn grains, just to let them fall next to his feet? He glanced over at his friends who were having fun without him, near said tree, running after each other. How Blaine wished he could do the same. Why couldn't he, though? Why _did_ they have to be so angry at him? What had _he_ done wrong? Nothing!

He got off on his feet and sprinted towards them, a hesitant smile already plastered on his face. He joined the children running in circles and laughed out loud, just like he had been doing two days ago. But then, almost everybody was silent and his squeaking laughter resonated in the playground. He came to a halt and noticed everyone staring at him.

"Hey, why are you playing with us?" a hardly developed voice demanded, walking to him. Blaine idly stood there, the ghost of the grin vanishing into a silent pout. "Who invited you to play with us?" the kid, that was slightly taller than him, repeated as he walked closer with three other boys who pranced behind. Blaine rubbed the palm of his hands up and down his trousers lightly and avoided the glower of the boys in front of him. "Did we say you could come and play with us?" Blaine was still waiting to see what happened, without intervening. "Get out of our playground, Blaine!" the little kid shoved him and Blaine almost tripped on the grainy floor. As the group forged, he stumbled backwards, trying not to fall.

"It's not yours," he mumbled and they stopped in perplexity. "It's not your playground!" he raised his voice. "And… it wasn't my fault…" he lowered again, his last words, drowned by the impish children.

"We don't want you to play with us, no one wants to be your friend anymore, Blaine!" he continued to preach as few of the kids behind him nodded with suspicious frowns. "No one likes you, let it go," he finished depreciatively and stuck out his tongue to Blaine, just before another kid pushed him again, making him lose his balance. He quickly grasped and tugged at the air, standing on one foot for a brief moment before he collapsed onto the pavement, stretching his right arm backwards, to prevent the impact as much as possible. Just as he crashed with the ground, his arm bent, scratching his wrist and an instant later, his elbow.

No one was watching anymore and Blaine just stood up again and dusted off his knees. His dad had told him to stay away from those kids and he had tried to refute. Well… Maybe he was right. After all, not even Brandon had defended him.

With his left hand, he pushed the elbow nigh to his face and inhaled sharply when he brushed the deeper graze.

"Ouch," he squealed under his trembling breath.

"Alright kids, everybody in, come on!" an adult, feminine voice called that very moment. Blaine turned his messy head and spotted his teacher nearby the broad door, motioning them in with a sweet smile. She scanned the now –almost- empty place and spotted Blaine sitting alone, in the middle of the large yard. "Blaine, honey, come on in, you're the only one left!" she encouraged him with a warm smile. She held the boy's stare for a second until he swallowed and placed his hands on the floor, as to stand up.

Elizabeth nodded, satisfied and from the same place, peered in the classroom. They were all cackling and chatting animatedly, playing with the rubber numbers and the wooden blocks. When she twisted her neck back to Blaine, she saw the kid lying on the floor with an expression of fear and shame in his face.

"Oh my God, Blaine?" she hurried to his side and crouched next to him. "Blaine, are you alright?" she pressed, making the boy sit up on his buttocks and clasp his hands together, getting rid of the dirt on them. He winced again and hid them with wide, scared eyes that flew to Elizabeth pretty, blue ones. "Blaine, what happened sweetie?" she asked in a soft voice. She was not going to scare the boy even more by forcing him to do anything. He fidgeted lightly and she could notice how he was nibbling the corner of his lip. "Nothing will happen, we don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to," she offered.

"Not even my dad and mommy?" he asked with a sadly hopeful glimmer in his hazel eyes.

"Not even them, Blaine, but I need to know what is that happened," she approached again.

His pouted lips quivered and he dramatically countered his head, fixing eyes in a distant random spot behind him as he stuck his right arm out, showing his teacher the superficial cut in his arm. She gasped softly and took the kid's arm in her hands, feeling him tense a bit. She mopped before patting Blaine's knee.

"Come on, honey, get up," she whispered and bounced on her feet before stretching her legs. The boy gaped up at her, almost breaking his neck, she was so high up above, with the unadulterated and recent desperation in his eyes.

"But you said you wouldn't tell them!" he accused her and flinched when he realized how rude he had been and how she would now definitely call his parents and tell them everything.

"I won't, Blaine," she stated and held out her hand. "Come on, sweetie, take it."

"You promise you won't call my parents?" he persisted, not quite locking eyes with the woman.

"I promise."

If Blaine hadn't been so afraid and shaken about the whole thing, he would have loved to hug her as she led him in, holding his small hand tightly.

* * *

><p>Blaine gasped and let out a shy "ouch."<p>

"I know, it burns a little," she wrinkled her pointy nose with a sympathetic smile. "But we'll be over in no time," she proceeded as she pressed the cotton delicately over the folding skin of Blaine's hurt elbow.

The fact she wasn't asking or pushing Blaine into confessing how he had done that made him feel both relieved and anxious. He didn't want his parents to know he had no friends left, that nobody liked him or that, even worse, they had inflicted a stupid, ugly cut in his arm. He continued to have a concentrated and sad grimace, firm in his factions while Elizabeth, from the chair she was sitting on, opened a drawer next to her and pulled out a pretty band-aid with pretty colors. She applied it on his now clean, fair skin with the tip of her tongue between her teeth. "There you go," she whispered focused on her duty. When she finished she glanced up at Blaine with the same adoring beam from before. "That wasn't as terrible as you thought it would be, now, was it?" Blaine giggled timidly and she accentuated her smile. "Now down we go, honey, come," she stood in front of Blaine and took him from under his armpits to put him down, since he was sitting in a rather tall counter. The second he lost contact with the wooden desk, he hauled forward fretfully and clutched his arms around Elizabeth's neck, nestling his head in the tender curve. And even though she seemed taken aback, he felt a huge relief and something that distantly reminisced of belonging when his feet touched the ground and she didn't let go. The hug wasn't weak either and she was holding on to him just as much as Blaine was onto her.

When they pulled apart a moment after, they exchanged smiles: Blaine's shy, hers between compassionate and thankful. Suddenly, they heard footsteps coming from the hallway far down which some more classrooms held crowds of different-aged children, and a second later the door was heavily pushed open by a panting, thrilled kid with shiny eyes and a radiating smile.

"Mommy, mommy! Mercedes, invited me over to—" he let his small mouth fall open in a shape of a perfect 'o'. "Who… Who is he?" he blurted out with a curious, somewhat untrusting tilt of his head.

"Kurt, this is Blaine, one of my kids," the simple smile repeated to graze and ignite her sugary, delicate face and Blaine couldn't help but kind of admire her. "Blaine, honey, this is my son, Kurt."

"Hi," the dark haired one greeted shyly and waved his hand.

The little boy eyed him warily and frowned when Blaine blushed and then he was smiling kindly at him and stretching his arm out, swelling his chest. Blaine's tongue darted out between his uneasy lips and stared at the hand. It was snowy, small, rounded and it looked warm.

Doubtful Blaine held his right arm close to his chest before letting his hand glide slowly through the air until it was close enough to Kurt's, calm in place and encouraging. He slithered his thumb into the soft crook between Kurt's own and his pale index finger before wrapping the rest of his fingers around his pleasantly cushioned palm.

He looked up and the smile was still on Kurt's face, his blue, glinting eyes adorned with dark tawny eyelashes, staring right into his. He couldn't help a smile that refreshingly flowed to settle in his no-longer-uneasy lips.

He was right, it was warm.

* * *

><p><em>Ok, so I now came up with a more clear idea for this. Originally, it was going to be <strong>very simple<strong>, hardly a proper story. I was going to do one chapter per.. huh, period, if you will? Like, one for Childhood (the first one being a prologue, an introduction), another for adolescence, then grown ups and then when they're elder and that would be it._

_But I gave it a second thought and I think I'm going to develop a bit more._

_My biggest problem is that I just don't want to remind people too much of Swing Sets, cause honestly, it is not my intention and I am not trying to copy anything (here they hold hands but.. it's Klaine, it started with holding hands, so.. idk)._

_Still, I hope you like this, and please please please, I'm still on the fence about this whole thing (I'm writing it, but still...) so if you can review, spread the word IF YOU LIKE IT and.. whatever, I'd really appreciate it :)_

_Looooooots of love for all of you._

_PS: Everyone just assumes Kurt's mom is called Elizabeth. Idk._


End file.
